Beloved
by diva.gonzo
Summary: Multi-Chapter. In Progress. Harry and Ron are on assignment to capture an escaped Werewolf near Wales. An On-the-job injury has Ron teetering between life and death. Prompted from a post on Tumble On and On. Rated M for graphic violence, plenty of cursing, medical gore and situations, some citrus in later chapters, and putting a particular character through heck and back.
1. Bishop's Castle

"Damn it Harry, why the bloody hell are we always picked for shit duty?"

Harry looked up from his stack of parchment, quirking an eye at his best mate across the desks. "What are you on about?" He returned to his own stack of parchment, scribbling away and only offering 1 ear to his best mate sitting across from him in the department.

"See this?" He held up a five foot long piece of parchment. "That bugger Robards is sending us out tonight to corral a loose Werewolf. And I was actually hoping to get caught up on the mound of paperwork but this cropped up."

"Werewolf?" Harry reached for the parchment and Ron reluctantly gave over. "Yeah, some poor sod in the Midlands. So I was told, the family has a safe room and everything was on the up and up and somehow the person escaped while turned and are running loose on the moors."

Harry looked up from the parchment and gave Ron a particular look. "Trowbridge?" Harry scanned the parchment again and stopped cold. "That troll? Fuck."

"Now you see why I'm beastly. That sod can't do shit. He failed his apprenticeship 3 times before being told not to apply again."

"You mean he's the same one – "

"The same one. There's a reason why Bailiffs rarely make Auror – because of the Trowbridge rule."

"Shit."

"Yeah. He's on loan for the month since the other team is out on assignment, with no headquarters communications, wherever the fuck they are." Ron ran his hands through his hair, leaving it looking a little like Harry's this evening. "I don't like this, not one bit. Why couldn't we get someone who knows which end of the wand to use?"

"Me neither. Bugger." Harry handed back the five feet of parchment. "I guess we'll have to plan on this being a three-person operation since he's incompetent."

"Wainwright! Trowbridge! Potter! Weasley! Ten Minutes!" the guttural bark of their Senior Auror Hemera Jones erupted from the Director's office. "Debriefing now."

Ron and Harry both grunted before collecting their wands and cloaks for her office. As one of the Senior Aurors, she had an office, for what little she was in it. The four men crowded into the wardrobe-sized room, refusing to take a seat. Fighting over the lone seat in the small space would be pointless for how long they'd be in there. "I'll make it brief. A werewolf is loose on the western side of the Shropshire Hills. The person in question, Maggie Grey, normally, so I'm told, is content to sleep off her debilitating condition after receiving a Wolfsbane potion. Tonight, it didn't work somehow and she tore through the wood door and off into the night. Our task, gentlemen, is to apprehend her safely and return her to a magically sealed cell until she recovers. She is to not be harmed, gentlemen, at all costs."

"All costs? The hell?" Ron piped up.

"Shut your gob, Weasley. She's a Greyback victim during the Coup. She was targeted since her husband is a Muggle and she'd spoken out against the regime. Yaxley send Greyback to handle it and he bungled it intentionally or otherwise." She gave all of the men a pointed look. No one would bother admitting that they were all glad that the bastard was dead, thanks to Ron and Neville.

"The Director said that her husband is a Muggle and a Muggle Healer at the local hospital. We can't let her be hurt because it'd be a fuck ton of paperwork to do and I for one don't want to spend a week dealing with Muggles and having their memories obliviated. Anyone here want to do that?" Four voices grunted in agreement. "Yeah, me neither so stunners only. We're here to apprehend, not arrest. There's a big difference, especially with the change in Ministry protocols."

"So where are we going?"

"We're taking a portkey to a little place called Bishop's Castle. It's on the edge of Wales but we're landing about a mile northeast of there. It's the only landing location for ten square miles. Once there, disillusion yourselves and track her down. I want this handled with as little fuss as possible. We can't scare the Muggles or even the magical folk who live there. No one wants to know that a person with their affliction lives in their tiny hamlet."

"And if there's a muggle in her sights?" Harry asked. "Do we stun them both and go from there or what? What if she's already hurt someone? What then?"

Hemera huffed. "I'd prefer the Muggle not be hurt but use your best judgment. Dismissed."

The four men collected their overcoats and checked their limited amount of gear. One by one they left her office and made their way to the Portkey room. Director Robards, in one of his first acts as Director of the Aurors, was to designate a spare conference room into a portkey room. On the hour and half hour, arrivals would come into the department – only on Auror authority – and on the quarters, departures would happen. He mentioned in one of the first meetings that Harry sat in on that they needed somewhere secure to come and go without going through the Ministry lifts or entrances and exits. Too many nattering employees giving away Auror departures became a problem after the Purge.

"I don't like this," Ron muttered. "Bloody werewolf capture. And we get picked."

"Stuff it, Ron. It's our job. Anyone else would try to harm the poor sod. She can't help her condition."

"Like Remus and his furry little problem, right?"

"Something like that," Harry whispered. "It would be nice once the better potion is approved for wider use. I hate that Remus never saw it or got to use it."

"Yeah, me too."

They traveled down the back way, coming to the room with a minute to spare. The others, including Auror Jones, were present and accounted for. Their portkey for this trip was a manky rucksack, with the buckles rusted and the leather fraying from the seams. Harry knew better though, that it was magically secure so it wouldn't fall apart. He could feel the magic sending waves off. It had to be powerful for him to feel it this distinctly.

"Potter, you're on point. Weasley, take East. Wainwright, south. Trowbridge, North. Potter will snoop around the township and I'll apparate to the Belfry of the Church on the South side of the hamlet."

"What do we do if we come across our target?" Trowbridge seemed a little slow on the uptake tonight. "You said stunners only but what if she turns on us? You expect us to take a bite on a full bloody moon."

Hemera Jones pulled a face. "You git. You know plenty of second year spells to prevent her from laying a paw on you or anyone else. Use them. Don't hurt her unless it's a last resort. Sorted?"

He grunted. Everyone put their hand on the rucksack as it turned blue and they departed for a small village far and away from London.

Minutes later, the five people landed softly in a field outside of the small town. Once on their feet and verifying everything arrived with each one, they disillusioned themselves to Auror Jones satisfaction. She apparated away, disappearing to the belfry of the tallest point on the town – the church on the south side. If anything went sideways they were to send up red sparks. Most of the muggles would think it was some random fireworks.

Each man took off, intending to search the town first before spreading outward. It was drawn up simply, and the most efficient, to cover the most area without disturbing the town inhabitants. Hopefully the late hour would have most of the village residents asleep in their beds.

Ron grumbled under his breath, especially considering that he saw his breath with every exhale. Crass words stumbled out, especially considering the actual mortal peril they were in. The late night chill bit his nose and ears, leaving them as red as he would be mortified. His poor Mum would probably have a litter of kittens if she knew the circumstances. Fortunately it was almost close to midnight and Mum wasn't the one who stayed up late.

Ron turned a corner, past a small lot of autos, parked for the night with grotesque yellow signs showing how much they were for sale in Muggle currency. He kept walked, with a purpose but not so fast he'd miss anything out of the ordinary. Ron pulled the Deluminator from his pocket and pocketed all of the security lights on the back parking lot of whatever business he was walking around. It was a huge risk, going around looking in the dark but having the balls of light available would give him an advantage if he was caught out.

Mounds of wood were stacked meters high, even taller than himself. The rows of processed wood went on for meters upon meters, even higher than his head. "Oh this isn't going to be good," he thought to himself. "Bloody fuck, a werewolf and a blasted lumber yard; just what I need tonight."

Ron kept is wand out in front of him, constantly thinking of a shield charm first if the poor bugger tried to attack him. Ron stepped gingerly between the stacks of processed wood, listening for any noise, ordinary or otherwise. He continued onward, walking up and down the rows, his wand lit to flush out any shadows that might conceal a frightened werewolf.

He stopped and listened, straining his ears. There, off on another row, he heard some wood crash to the asphalt under foo[TJW2] t, along with a high pitched whimper. Since it wasn't Hermione and it was pushing half eleven, this was either a thief or his target.

He took off towards where he heard the crashing wood. He could have apparated but didn't want to risk scaring the werewolf or accidentally landing on a petty thief. With steps trained in stealth he tread softly towards where the noise was. Sure enough, a pallet of wood had fallen. Instead of lighting his wand, Ron popped the Deluminator and released the lights he nicked from around the corner. The balls of light escaped and hung in the air, lighting up the preternaturally darkened space.

He heard a whine a second before he was knocked to the ground. He lifted his head and saw the werewolf racing down the pathway towards the end of the building. The blighter looked no bigger than an over-sized bun.

"Shit," He jumped up and took off running after the scared bugger.

She turned the corner and he tried to pour on the speed while wishing he had brought his broom to chase the quarry easier. Somehow she was leaving him in the dust and he was the fastest Auror on staff. All of those empty hours running with Harry paid off, even if he might lose sight of his intended.

Ron pulled his wand and cast red sparks up in the night sky. Within moments he heard the sounds of displaced air whooshing into his vicinity.

The balls of light followed him, casting an eerie glow in the area. The werewolf was right on the front edge of the lights, barely bathed in any illumination. He saw Wainright apparate 20m down the drive, near where he came up into the lumber yard and Harry was 50 meters up the street from his momentary position, running hard towards where he was.

Ron kept running, hoping to corner the furry Ms. Grey where he could stun her and safely transport her back to her safe confines for the night. Then again, he hoped someone else apprehended her. He didn't fancy spending hours working on paperwork and multiple debriefings, especially if she was injured.

Ron saw movement to his right and felt magic flowing past his head.

Bright light blinded him an instant before he felt the blast.

His world blinked out.

Harry was there first. Wainright was immediately at his left shoulder.

"The fuck you playing at, Bronwyn? You hit Ron? Are you mental, a lunatic?"

Harry stared at the other member of their search party, murder in his eyes and on his mind. Vivid Green eyes were full of fury, all focused on the one who didn't know which way to work his wand. He stared until Trowbridge blinked and he set his focus on his best mate lying in the grass at his feet. Harry yanked the ruck off of his back and reached deep, trying to find the dittany and pads. His hands grew slick trying to staunch the bleeding from his best friend's head. The preternatural glow from the confiscated lights from the lumber yard bathed everything in an eerie blueish white hue. The dim lights next to whatever building they were lying next only added to the fact that Ron looked close to death already. Blood was seeping through Harry's fingers, coating his boots, soaking the knees of his trousers and the ends of his jumper sleeve. He finally grasped the enormous stash of pads and shoved them onto the wound, watching the pad soak through. Merlin, not again. He'd lived through this once already. "Stay with me," He growled before turning to Wainwright, working feverishly to protect their location from any curious eyes this late at night.

"Call Jones now," Harry yelled at Bronwyn. He didn't stir from watching Harry work on Ron's injury.

"Damn it, call Jones now!" He yelled and Wainwright sent up red sparks, three sets in a row – the Auror emergency notification. In seconds she landed softly on the grass three meters away. "Report!" she barked at the three men.

Trowbridge spoke up first. Harry was too busy trying to grasp the dittany. Every time, it slipped from his fingers. "Weasley was chasing Ms. Grey. I saw him running after her. I thought – "

Wainright cut him off. "Trowbridge cast a powerful stunner and missed. He's lucky that he didn't take Weasley's head off with that bit of careless magic. Instead, he hit the side of the building." Wainwright illuminated his wand and showed an enormous chunk of masonry had been blown off of the side of the stone building. "The stone, it hit Weasley before knocking him backward like a bloody bomb blast. It's sheer luck that he didn't land on the stone wall and break his bloody neck." Not two meters behind them was a one meter stone wall, topped with various river stones, mostly with rough edges.

"It was a stunner, just like Jones told us to use. He moved in front of it."

"Yeah, and your wand movements were _Bombada_," Wainwright countered.

"Damn it, I can't get the bleeding to stop," He complained as he threw over his shoulder the first handful of pads and thrust a second set on them. He patently ignored his sodden trousers, socks, boots, and jumper sleeves. He shifted his knees, trying to keep Ron's head propped up just enough where he could keep the compress on his head. He didn't dare use magic, not when he didn't know the extent of the injuries. One bad spell to quell the bleeding could leave him in the Janus Thickey ward for the rest of his life.

Harry refused to do that to his best friend.

"I can't get the dittany. He needs a healer now." He felt one tear escape. "I'm not a healer. I can't save him." He said under his breath. "Damn it, Ron. Stay with us."

"Potter, get him out of here." Jones shoved something into his hands – a copy of the Auror field manual on arrest procedures. The book was already iridescent blue – a portkey for the Auror emergency landing ward at St. Mungo's in London. Harry lifted Ron into his arms, looking like a horrific impersonation of Pieta by Michelangelo. He folded Ron's across the book and across his body, looking so pale in the preternatural lights.

Blood dripped down from the wound onto his trousers, watching each moment seep by like cold custard. The gauze wouldn't staunch the bleeding. They needed a healer _now_.

Harry fought the immediate memories of the last time he saw Ron like this, severely injured and on the edge of death. He couldn't face that again. Instead, he looked across to the remaining Aurors present.

"When we return to London, you're facing an Inquiry. If I have any say, you will be booted from MLS. And," Harry saw the book glowing brighter, "if he dies, I will personally strangle you with my own two hands. The fuck – "

Harry didn't hear the rest of the Jones' vicious yet soft-spoken harangue. He was holding onto Ron for dear life, awaiting the landing at St. Mungo's. He had seconds to prepare his knees for the landing. He'd need a strong pain potion after the landing.

Ron was dead weight in his arms. Frothy pink bubbles were erupting from his nose and mouth. Both sets of robes were a grotty mess. "Stay alive, please," Harry begged to whatever deity would listen and grant his heartfelt request. "I need you." With a crash, they landed in the secured zone for Aurors who were injured. "Emergency! Auror Down! I need a healer!" Harry yelled through the room. "Auror down!"


	2. Pawn

Not two seconds later, two medi-warlocks came rushing in while carrying a magical gurney. They rolled Ron onto it, smearing blood all over the black and white tile floor. Harry stood, aching, watching Ron be carted inside. Unnatural coldness, much like when he would be in the vicinity of Dementors, washed over his mind and body. Not even the copper tang of stench on his robes could break the enormous grip on his heart.

"You're injured. Come inside."

Harry blinked and looked to his left. An elderly medi-witch was standing at his shoulder, gently holding onto him. He hadn't realized he was swaying back in forth, standing stock still, staring at the closed double doors.

"I – " Harry couldn't talk, explain everything including what he was feeling. "I – "

"Let's get you checked out. Come with me," the elderly witch prompted his arm gently to move him, make him walk into the ward. They were in the same emergency ward, across the expansive room, the separating sheet ignored so the various healers could move unimpeded. She motioned him to sit up on the sterile bed across the room. Every time she moved to stand in front of Harry, he'd move aside, trying to watch what the Healers were doing to Ron.

"Sit Still, Mr. Potter. I have to make sure you're not injured."

"I'm not," Harry kept his eyes on the bed not three meters away. So many Healers were in the room tending Ron. In their haste, his arm slipped down, a glint of reflected light on the hammered goblin silver wedding band he wore on his left hand. He told Harry one early morning, after a mission that went south, that he never took his ring off. He'd promised Hermione that it would only come off if he quit breathing. Everyone in attendance at the wedding heard him and celebrated this moment as part of his vows.

It looked like it might happen this night.

"There's so much blood," he said to himself while watching healers working frantically to staunch his wounds. "How can one man have so much?"

"Mr. Potter, please, look this way."

Harry turned and saw caring eyes and a warm expression. How could this medi-witch focus on him when his best friend and part of his heart was lying on another gurney not three meters away, dying from a terrible mistake that should have never happened in the first bloody place?

"Those are the best healers on staff, Mr. Potter. They'll save him. They've done the occasional miracle with someone. I know they'll do it again for him."

"_**You can't know that!**_" Harry felt mortification flush across his face for yelling at the matron medi-witch tending him. "Sorry. I shouldn't yell at you. You're not the reason why we are in here."

"I know." Harry tried to turn but the witch in question stood in his way, forcing him to look upwards toward her face. "The sooner you let me finish making sure you're ok the sooner you can help him." She pointed her wand at his chest, performing a complicated incantation silently. Gold threads wound around his head, chest, and shoulders, coiling inside him like he'd taken a long pull from a good bottle of mead.

"Hurry, we're losing him," an ethereal voice erupted in the silence.

"Ron!" He tried to stand and felt his knees give way. He grabbed onto the side of the examination bed desperately, feeling his eyes closing and his breathing slowing down. "The hell you do to me, witch?" He growled before collapsing back onto the side of the bed behind him. His hands were failing him at the one time he needed them most of all. "Ron," he yelled but it came out slurred.

"Nothing, Mr. Potter. Magic is imbued into the bed. It's to prevent falls for patients. You're to stay there 'til I release you. Now sit back on the bed and the feeling shall pass."

Harry did as asked, and sure enough, the fatigue and wobbly knees quit bothering him. "That's my friend there, my best mate!" He bit his tongue because he raised his voice at the medi-witch trying to see to him. "Sorry, but –"

"I understand Mr. Potter. They're doing everything they can for him. Everyone here knows how close you are to Mr. Weasley. We know that he's -"

"It's not like that," Harry blushed, "not like that at all. I mean, I am married to his sister and all."

"Really?" she wove her wand around his head while watching the gold glitter shimmer from his hair. "The Prophet said that you two were having an affair and that the Weasley girl, the one who is the Harpy's Chaser, is a beard for you; same with Miss Granger."

"They're vicious lies," he snarled. "It's not like that," Harry kept staring at the gaggle of Healers tending Ron. "I'm closer to him than my wife, I admit that. But we're not like that." Harry peered past her hip and saw clothes flying off of his friend's torso, all soaked. "I love him as a brother and I know he feels the same towards me. His wife knows that too, along with mine. It's not a closely guarded secret, I reckon."

"Ah, well," the medi-witch completed her assessment before stowing her wand. "Well, let's get your tidied up some. You look grotty and wretched."

Harry looked down in the harsh sterile lights of the Auror emergency ward and bit off a rather pungent curse. His boots were entirely soaked along with the knees of his trouser legs, the arms of his jumper up to his elbows, along with his hands entirely caked with dried blood. Ron's blood. He'd not held him the last time he was like this, paralyzed with inaction when he was badly splinched.

_"What's happened to him?"_

_"Splinched," said Hermione, her fingers already busy at Ron's sleeve, where the blood was wettest and darkest._

_Harry watched, horrified, as she tore open Ron's shirt. He always thought of splinching as something comical but this... his insides crawled unpleasantly as Hermione laid bare Ron's upper arm, where a great chunk of flesh was missing, scooped cleanly away as though by a knife._

_"Harry, quickly, in my bag, there's a small bottle labeled 'Essence of Dittany - "_

_"Bag, right." _

It was pure dumb luck that Hermione kept her head when they were losing Ron the last time and he was paralyzed with fear. The fear was still there, coiled around him like Nagini in Bathilda Bagshot's house that fateful Christmas night. Only this time there was nothing to let the fear go until Ron woke, if he ever did.

"Ron bought me these boots," Harry said to no one in particular. "Christmas gift in 1998. The goblins were still being tossers and he had saved up galleons. I asked for some trainers, cheap ones, just to get through training, and instead, he took me to this place Hermione took him and got these for me."

"He obviously cares for you," the medi-witch regarded Harry kindly, "and you for him. If you promise to stay put, I'll go pick up some spares for you. You're a, what 30 x 32? And a Medium shirt? Size 10 boot?"

"I guess. I've not bought clothes in a while. Anything you get me will be fine."

The matron toddled off while Harry sat glued to his bed, watching a gaggle of lime green robed healers working feverishly on Ron. The mission and everyone else could fuck right off if anything permanent happened to Ron. Watching Cedric die in front of him was bad enough. So was Sirius. Countless others. So many faces drifted across his mental eye, each one wearing a sad smile.

None of them held a candle to Ron. Ron, his best friend, the one who stood there when he was his worst and being a git and still being his brother, he needed Ron desperately, like that night he pulled him from the lake when the locket was trying to strangle him.

His enormous laugh when he found something so funny.

His electric smile when he was caught out thinking of Hermione, and getting the mickey taken from him by the other blokes in the department.

Ron's natural talent in the kitchen, taking over when Kreacher was off duty, whipping up meals for the four of them at odd hours of the night and morning and cooking for them without complaint.

His raucous bawdy humour which made Ginny laugh and Hermione roll her eyes fondly at him.

Everyone laughed at Ron's uncanny ability in impersonating various people in the department, using considerable cheek, bringing tears and laughter to the eyes of everyone listening. He is a natural comedian much of the time.

The fact that Ron, no matter how much he bitterly complains about the pay, the hours, the work conditions, the missions they go on – he goes anyway and gives 110% on every single mission.

Ron, standing in the finest wizarding robes money could buy, watching Hermione being walked down the aisle by her father, her Mum sitting on the front row, proud as she could be, even if mum and daughter were still at odds most of the time. Harry smiled watching the tears of joy flowing down his friends face and feeling no shame to show how happy he was.

Ron standing there looking like he'd won the life's lottery when Hermione said yes finally.

Ron looking like complete shite after helping rescue his Mum, impersonating her while others extracted her out of captivity, and taking a beating few lived through.

So many important moments in his life were shared with this larger than life friend and yet he's lying on the gurney, Merlin knows how bad off, and he'd never told Ron how much he meant to him, how much –

"Mr. Potter, a change of clothes. We'll send the other items out for laundry and send them by parcel to the address on the records."

"That's fine," he intoned wordlessly while watching the Healers. Each second felt like a lifetime. Taking his eyes off of the healers would be so many lifetimes. He watched with anticipation, racing to strip out of the soiled jumper, dress shirt, and vest underneath. He shoved the white t-shirt on, hoping he didn't miss anything.

"That should do it," someone spoke up from the other bed. Three Healers, in matching green robes, stepped back, looking like they were assessing on how well they crafted a broken masterpiece. They stepped away from Ron and Harry got his first glance at his best mate.

Harry gasped. Ron was as pale as an Inferius, with a bedsheet pulled up to under his arms lying on his chest. The old brain scars stood out vividly on his arms, looking almost angry compared to the sallow pallor of his skin. But his face was the worst. His eyes were bandaged over and his nose was such an unnatural shade of purple that an aubergine would cringe. His cheeks were still crusted with dried blood and the only ear he could see was mottled horribly. Why hadn't they healed his bruises?

Anger raged through his heart and soul, desiring nothing more than to bludgeon the one who did this to Ron, without concern or care except that he would get into trouble. If Jones didn't murder Trowbridge he'd do it without remourse.

George would finally be able to make one ear jokes to Ron.

That rude thought doused any anger he felt instantly.

Trowbridge would wait. Ron needed him.

Harry took his glasses off and wiped them on the clean vest in his hands before putting the slightly cleaner glasses back on his face. "Healer, there's a problem," Harry spoke up.

The three of them turned and saw what Harry had seen: ichor oozing from his ear.

"Damn it! Get Greengrass up here Now!" the lead Healer yelled at the other medi-witch in the room. She raced out at a full sprint.

"What's wrong?"

"Get him out of here!" the other Healer yelled, pulling his wand out of his robes and closing off Harry's view of what was happening. A white opaque dividing curtain snapped into place.

"Someone tell me, what's wrong?"

"Come with me, Mr. Potter."

"I'm not leaving him here."

"If you don't leave now I will stun you and keep you out."

"No, don't. I can't leave."

"Get him out of here," the third healer yelled, turning his head towards Harry.

He knew that look all too well: Fear, Panic, Anger, Terror, Impotence, Panic.

Harry felt something snap in his chest, like a thin twig was stepped on under his boot-clad foot. The room went cold and grey between heartbeats.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't watch if his best friend was going to perish this night.

"I'll leave," he said finally.

His best friend needed him and he couldn't bear to see him perish. He was such a fucking coward compared to Ron. Ron shouted down Voldemort but he couldn't watch his friend at the worst moment of his life.

With a gentility that would make any Mum proud, the medi-witch escorted him from the room, listening to the healers barking orders at a third medi-witch present, getting supplies for immediate surgery.

Harry walked with leaden steps towards the waiting room, a place he was all-too-familiar with. Softer chairs had replaced the hard plastic ones, where the family could take a kip if necessary along with a Floo-connected Fireplace and a desk full of parchment, quills, and inkwells.

Fuck. He'd have to tell Hermione if Jones or Robards hadn't already reached her. Shit.

"Fuck, why did this have to happen right after your birthday, Ron?" Harry grumbled. "Last weekend was incredible and now this? Fuck!"

Even the frightening concept of telling Hermione didn't remove the grey from his vision. Nothing mattered.

He should be scared. They were married less than a year now, only because Hermione finally figured everything out and pulled her fingers out and said yes. She'd be a terror and yet he wasn't scared of her reaction.

Losing Ron terrified him more than anything else, even facing down Riddle out in the forest the second time.

And Mom and Dad. They needed to know. Hell, the entire family needed to be told.

Harry stood in the middle of the room, trying to strain his ears to hear what might be happening in the ward. But he knew better. The room was magically sealed, blocked off from the waiting room. Only silence talked to him.

His heart beat against his ribs, reminding him that while he was still whole, Ron wasn't.

Bugger. He had to tell everyone. Who did he need to call first? He checked his watch and saw it was after 2 am. No one would be awake, not even George who was a notorious night owl, working in his invention lab for the shop, or Fleur who was finally getting sleep since Louis was sleeping through the night now, even if her husband was away in China on a trip for the bank.

The fire roared to life and Director Robards stepped out, brushing the dust off of his robes and away from his boots. "How is he?"

Harry could hug Director Gawain Robards with the lack of ceremony or protocol. He needed the focus to keep from melting down. "I dunno, sir. He seemed to be stable but then something happened and they kicked me out. I – "Harry's voice hitched, hard. "I dunno if he's going to make it." Two tears escaped. He didn't bother wiping them away.

Vile words dripped from his lips, words that Ron would appreciate being spoken on his behalf. Of course, Harry learned them from Dudley and Ron.

Robards nodded. "He will. He's got a good fighting spirit about him. Anyone who tells Jones off is made of stern stuff."

"You could be wrong."

"I rarely am. Jones tells me quite a bit if you can believe that. She praises him often, even when she wants to kick his arse to Glasgow."

"Way Ron says it, she hates him so much. She rides his arse so hard he can't do his job and he can barely tie the laces on his boots without getting his arse reamed out by her."

"Nah, she doesn't. She's hardest on those who are the best." Robards looked at the opaque windows into the ward, seeing nothing. "She's training him for promotion, just like she is for you. Bugger, I wish someone would come out here and tell us what's going on."

Harry grunted in agreement. "But she's 10 times harder on him than she is on me."

"He lacks something you have in abundance: confidence. But he has skills you don't, such as his planning and how to adapt when things go sideways. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's a seer, the way he can see events unfold before they happen and change the situation for the better. His mind works differently, piecing things together to make an analysis and a determination that is almost never wrong. That's why I put the two of you together on most missions. You balance one another out brilliantly."

"Does he know all of this?" Harry felt his emotional walls shaking.

"She'll praise him in debriefings but instead, he'll only focus on the negative. He'll chew on that 'til he's green in the face. I've watched him perform brilliant magic but because he didn't fill out the arresting paperwork exactly right and get called on that, he'll be upset with that over the accolades and praise."

"Yeah, he's been like that a long time, I reckon."

"Well if he didn't have such a complex he'd probably be senior now."

"Really?" Harry turned back towards the glass wall, blocking their view. Harry felt the first cracks breaking in his heart. "Shite, sir, he knows and I still feel like a nancy boy, wishing to have told him how I felt, how I should have spoken up to keep Trowbridge off the mission tonight. I didn't, because I trusted Jones, and look what happened."

"Trowbridge is facing an inquiry. His actions injured an Auror on a mission. If I have anything to say about it, he'll be demoted and put on duty in Azkaban. He's dangerous with a wand and if we didn't need warm bodies on duty in places I'd personally make him redundant."

"He hurt Ron. I want to do things to him that would get me made redundant and thrown in Azkaban."

"He's not worth your anger, Potter. Besides, there probably won't be enough left once Jones is done with him. He might turn in his wand after this. He should. He's been on thin ice for a year now because of repeated problems. I dunno how he stayed on with the Ministry this long, frankly."

The fireplace roared to life with green flames matching Harry's eyes. He watched as Hemera Jones, his Senior Auror, and mentor, stepped out of the fireplace looking grotty. "How is he?" with no preamble and her usual gruff way of speaking. She looked worse for wear, with her braids appearing to be halfway ripped apart, her jacked shredded, and her boots caked with mud. "We cornered Grey and got her subdued. She's safely contained but she nearly tried to bite me. Good thing that I'm faster than a werewolf bite." She saw Harry staring widely at him. "Now I can respect Weasley for what he did to help kill Greyback. Fighting off a werewolf with only one hand and a wand is hard as shite."

Robards looked at her jacket. "You still need to be checked out. I don't want any accidents after tonight."

"Sorted, once we know about Weasley. Anything?"

Harry answered first. "I dunno. I've been out here for an hour with the Director. They've not said a thing."

"Nothing? For an hour? That's odd."

"Yeah, I know."

The fireplace roared to life again. Harry stopped when he saw who it was: One very irate and utterly pissed off Hermione Granger-Weasley. "Where the hell is my Husband?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why the hell did I have to find out about him from _her_ and not you?"

Harry recoiled.

"Oh, shite," was all he could say.


	3. Knight

"Where the hell is my Husband?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why the hell did I have to find out about him from _her_ and not you?"

Harry recoiled.

"Oh, shite," was all he could say.

"Oh shite is right, Harry!" Hermione yelled.

"That's enough, Granger," Hemera stepped in between the two, towering over Hermione by almost a foot. Then again, Hermione never backed down from a fight with Hemera.

"No, it's not. I should have been told by this git," She pointed her finger at Harry and he backed up a step, "and not you." She stared up at the similar eyes staring back down at her. "I hate being woken up at half two by anyone who is not my husband and especially for unpleasant news."

Harry had to agree with her statement. She was wearing a pair of virulent orange sleep trousers, a plain white vest under a maroon jumper that was two sizes too big on her, emblazoned with a gold thread R on the front. Her hair was up in a bushy ponytail, covered by an orange sleep hat.

"Look, Harry had to be checked out too, so quit being shirty with me." Jones sighed and slumped slightly. "He'd have come once he got checked out too, as a precaution, right?" She looked over her shoulder at Harry who was nodding frantically. She turned back to the diminutive witch before her. "So there's no need to be biting all of our arses over this completely cocked up situation."

"Granger," Director Robards bass voice boomed in the room. Everyone turned to stare at him. He was immune after all of the years of being an Auror. "Why don't we find out from Potter what happened so we can have an idea on how bad the situation is going forward?"

Hermione looked at the small gathering before her. "Has anyone contacted Arthur and Molly?"

"I called to the house," Hemera spoke up. "No one answered a Patronus. I'll try again in an hour."

"We can get ahold of the family shortly," Robards interjected. "But we need to know what happened to Weasley."

Harry went over the details on Ron's injury and heard Hermione spat a few vile adjectives towards Trowbridge when his name was mentioned. Harry noticed that Jones and Robards were nodding in agreement. When he finished with him being kicked out of the ward, Hermione was sitting in some of the soft chairs, her head in her hands.

"So you're saying that he might not make it this time?" She looked up from her hands and Harry immediately sympathized. Her eyes were bloodshot, enormous pale bags under her eyes, and her hair poking out through her hair bonnet. He saw her posture bent, like she was carrying an enormous burden on her back.

"I dunno, Hermione. All of us know head wounds bleed easily and it's not like last time. He's got Healers working on him right now, the best ones at the hospital and probably the country, all focused on his care."

"So now we wait?"

"I know how much you hate waiting, Hermione." Jones gave her a look.

Hermione shrugged. "You have no idea," she responded and settled in to wait.

Each tick of the clock on the wall felt like an hour, and each minute a day.

"I'm going to call his parents. They should be up now," Robards spoke up suddenly. "They should be here when we get the news." He stepped out of the waiting room.

Harry took a glance at the other two women, seeing both with worry for different reasons.

The boulder in his throat dislodged slightly, making him choke. The two looked at him and he fake-coughed to keep them from worrying about him. He wasn't important right now. They didn't need to make a fuss over him.

Eventually, Robards returned and took a seat. "I firecalled them. They should be here shortly."

"What's taking so long," Hermione muttered. "They should have been out here by now to tell us something."

"I know. This worries me too," Jones said, not giving Hermione any thought. "The longer it is, the more I get concerned."

"You're concerned," Hermione sniped back. "You're concerned? That's my husband in there."

"I remember Granger," Jones bit back. "I was there when the two of you exchanged vows and performed the magical bonding. You were gracious to let me have a dance with him, even if he was slightly pissed and stammered half the time we were talking. All he could do was prattle on about you and how damn happy he was, to wear that ring on his finger."

"Well your partner," disdain dripped from Hermione, "was talking about how you were only doing it to get him embarrassed."

"Aurora knows that and he did too, especially after a kiss on the cheek that made your hair frazzle."

"Guys, enough," Harry yelled. The two witches stared stilettos at him. "Hearing the two of you sniping isn't helping."

"Who says we are sniping?" Jones said, sounding quite calm. "Granger and I are – "

"I'm going for a walk," Harry got up and stormed out, leaving the others in the room.

The hallway was empty, especially this early in the day. He needed to be away, away from Hermione and Hemera bickering over stupid shite. Why couldn't they act like Director Robards there, being quiet and waiting patiently for any word on his condition? Why did Hemera have to antagonize Hermione every chance she could get? Why the hell did Hermione always rise to the bait?

Harry ducked into the stairwell. He knew what was coming and he didn't feel safe enough to let anyone else see him. He pointed his wand at the doors above and below the landing he was situated. No one who he needed desperately was available – from the one who smothered him too much, to the one who could call him out on his shite and love him at the same time, to the one on the table, who had zero qualms being there whether it's a nightmare or seeing too much on a mission.

The first sob exploded from his chest, wracking him with peels of anger and grief. Salty fat ears flowed down his face, threading through the coarse hairs on his cheeks and chin. He couldn't lose Ron. Hadn't he paid enough for a lifetime to not lose anyone else? Why did Ron have to pay for his lack of leadership? He couldn't lose Ron.

Life wouldn't be worth living without his best friend. He knew that. Deep down, he knew that Ron was his reason for living. Finishing Voldemort was the reason at the time but losing time with Ron would hurt 100 times worse than anything else he'd gone through.

Admittedly, he needed to live. But it wouldn't be a good life if Ron wasn't still in it.

"Harry," a soft voice from above called out to him. He looked upward and saw Hermione standing in the doorway. She knew well enough. It wasn't like they hadn't been friends for over a decade. But she also knew her limits on comforting him. Her patience was thin and limited to helping him – and keeping herself from exploding most of the time.

He scrubbed his hand across his face and smearing salty tears across the lenses of his glasses.

"I'll be there in a minute."

"It's fine. I wanted to tell you that Molly and Arthur got here and the Healers are waiting on us."

"I said I'd be there in a minute, Hermione."

"Fine," she snapped before letting the door slam on the stairwell.

He stood, trying to make himself look professional, not like he'd been on a crying jag. He knew he shouldn't have snapped at Hermione. She's on pins and needles too. He'd apologize later, once he knew Ron was awake and working towards getting out of the hospital. He trudged up the steps, removing the silencing charm off of both ends of that section of the stairwell and trudged back to the waiting room.

Sure enough, Healer Greengrass, the chief Healer for the hospital, was present along with another healer, one he didn't know, along with Molly and Arthur, Hermione, Hemera, and Director Robards.

"Now that you're here, Mr. Potter," Director Greengrass started.

"Can we see him?" Molly interrupted. "I need to see my son." Arthur put his hand on her shoulder. She squeezed it once. "I need to know if – "

"That's what I'm trying to say, Mrs. Weasley. Your son is critical."

One hysterical sob escaped and not just from Molly.

"He sustained a serious head injury. Mr. Potter was quite wise to limit his magical assistance in trying to save Mr. Weasley's life. While it was a physical injury, part of the spell rebound impacted him. Auror protocol healing at that point would have caused permanent damage."

Harry gulped. It's a good thing he wasn't quite confident in his skills there.

"We have him on potions, including – "

"Can we see him?" Hermione interrupted.

"Yes, shortly. But we need to tell you, the next forty-eight hours are the most critical. We," the healer took a deep breath, "We don't know if he will wake."

"What!"

"Hermione, wait," Harry interrupted, trying to stave off the coming tirade.

"No, I will not," She cut across him and looked back at Healer Greengrass. "It's a physical injury, not a magical one. It's easier with magic than the Muggle medicine."

"I beg to differ, Mrs. Weasley. Wizards know even less about how a brain works than Muggle Healers do. What little we know is from centuries of mistakes, fatalities, and worse. Even then, the brain and the mind work in ways we can't fathom yet nor do we understand how to fix them and heal injuries. We stick to proven methods of treatment and rarely if ever deviate into possible protocol changes." Harry saw her hair frizzing out from barely contained anger. "No wizard's life is worth ending because of a possible experiment. We leave that to the Muggles."

"Oh this is bullshit," She snarled. "My husband gets injured and you're telling me that he might not make it because you don't know how to treat him?"

"Mrs. Weasley, please calm down. We're doing everything we can for him. With brain injuries, it's a case of letting him rest and heal. The junior healer will be on duty and immediately available should you have a question or there is any change in his condition."

"Hermione, they are doing everything possible."

"No they aren't," she snarled again. She turned to the two healers. "You need to bring someone else in, someone who knows about traumatic brain injuries and consult with them on his injury."

"There is no one else, none that understand how potions work and what we are doing medically and magically."

"No one? What the hell?"

"You do realize, Mrs. Weasley, that the ones we can't heal, the small few we can't return to normal, the ones with permanent spell damage, are residents on the fourth floor. We aren't heartless. We heal everyone we can. Those we can't are kept comfortable and safe. But you have to give it time, time to let his brain heal from what we did to save his life, to give him a chance to live."

"What do you mean when you say what you did to save his life?"

"When Mr. Potter brought him in, we quickly determined the problems he had and set to work immediately. Mr. Potter noticed bleeding from his ear which indicated a serious problem, one which needed acute intervention immediately. It's fortunate he saw it when it started. What we did was remove part of his skull – "

"Do what?" Molly spoke first.

"You did?" Arthur cut across Molly.

"What was so serious you had to do that?" Hermione's shrill voice overrode the other two voices.

"As we were saying," Healer Greengrass huffed, "we removed part of his skull to take the pressure off of his brain that was swelling. We had minutes before it became permanent."

"Permanent?" Hermione's voice grew strangely quiet and passive. "Hell no!"

"Exactly. That's why we rushed Mr. Potter from the room. We had to do that work there and not anywhere else. It's a wonder the landing in the arrival area didn't do more damage."

"When we opened him up," the other healer finally spoke up, "we saw what the problem was. One way or another, he tore an artery in his brain. We repaired it straightaway but because of that, Mr. Weasley needs time to recover naturally. The first 48 hours are critical, especially since we don't dare wake him up. The problem is a delicate one. He needs to stay under the control of potions but the longer we wait, the less chance he wakes. Too long and he doesn't wake. Too short and he might not be able to work ever again, much less heal completely. The balance requires delicacy, luck, and quite a bit of faith."

"So all we can do now is wait?"

"That's all we can do now. We'll keep him on the potions we started him on and keep him on them for now. "

"What potions do you have him taking? There's one he is allergic to, that one of the ingredients – " Molly dry-washed her hands.

"It's in his chart and he's not on that particular one. We have him on – "

"Can we see him now?" Arthur interrupted.

Healer Greengrass sighed. "Yes, on one condition: he is to not be hugged for any reason. His head, chest, and stomach are injured and needs time to heal. While he is bandaged up right sharp and has added protections, following these conditions give him the best chance to wake. He might look like you can, but please, don't."

"Is that all?" Molly cut across the Healer, completely unapologetic. "We'd like to see him. I need to see him now."

The Healer looked at the gathering. "Let me reiterate that: he is not to be hugged _for any reason_. You can hold his hands, maybe rub his feet and that's it. We won't risk any potential setbacks because of enthusiastic family. So please, don't hug him for any reason."

"Yes, Yes, Yes, you've told us," Molly interrupted. "I need to see my son, now." Her voice turned harsh on the last word, expecting immediate obedience from her kids.

"Yes, you can. Come with me and we'll see him. Don't worry about talking quietly around him. He won't hear you at least immediately, or so we think. Some patients tell us that they recall hearing things when they are injured like this and others say that they didn't hear a thing. It depends on the patient, I reckon."

Most of the gathered went ahead. The other healer, who looked younger than either of them, kept Hermione and Harry back.

"What is it, Healer?"

"I realize how important he is to both of you, which is why I am saying this to you."

"Yes?" They spoke in unison.

"I'm not saying this to upset either of you, but we won't know for certain his condition until he wakes, if he does, and we can run tests on him."

"But he, the other healer, said – "

"Waking up is one part. Waking up with all of his faculties intact is a different proposition. The first part I'm confident in his recovery. I'm not confident in the second part."

"Why are you telling us this?" Hermione's voice broke on the last word.

"I'd rather you know now, before you step into there, that this won't be easy and it might take everything you have to see it through, for better or worse."

"He's worth it, Healer, um, I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Junior Healer Cattermole. Mary Francis Cattermole. I played Quidditch my first year with Mr. Weasley's sister. I was three years behind her. In fact, I'm here because of what the three of you did. My family was targeted, and my Mum falsely arrested. My parents escaped somehow," The two of them shared a particular look, "which they said was because of the three of you, which makes no sense, and they were able to escape and go into hiding. With Voldemort dead, Yaxley and Umbridge arrested, and sentenced to Azkaban, it was safe enough to come out of hiding. Mum said that I could play professional Quidditch or train as a Healer. I chose this path so I could help other people, like you did. Quidditch was fun but I've helped more as a healer than any galleons I could make."

Harry and Hermione shared a pointed look. They turned back to junior healer Cattermole. "I know I'm a bit old as a junior Healer, but I attended a Muggle university, reading Medicine to become a magical healer. That knowledge gave Mr. Weasley a fighting chance. It was my idea to remove part of his skull. It was my idea to take that part of his skull and tuck it into a pouch in his stomach so it will be ready for when we will heal it back into place."

"That's barbaric!"

"Yes, it is, but that is medicine. The bone in his skull is living tissue. It needed to stay nourished to be able to heal back once the swelling goes down on his brain. Replacing it and giving him a day's worth of skele-gro will fix that straightaway."

"But you mentioned – "

"What we did, with my idea, is give him a fighting chance, as slim and wild as it might be. If he pulls through, which the odds aren't there but it's better than zero, then we have a new way to help patients like him recover completely. Admittedly he is a test case here."

"But Healer Greengrass said that wizard magic doesn't use test cases, that it's too risky."

"It is but knowing Mr. Weasley via his sister, I know he'd understand. The three of you risked everything to make our world possible. This is the smallest thing I can possibly do to repay that generosity."

Understanding passed between the three of them. "I will be on duty all day with Healer Greengrass, to monitor him closely. I don't expect us to try and wake him for several days, to let his brain recover from the trauma."

"What are his actual odds, Healer Cattermole?"

She blushed, slightly. "Without what we did to save him, zero. Most people who have this kind of injury don't receive adequate care fast enough and they die from brain hypoxia because of the swelling inside the skull. Because you had him here within five minutes of his injury and we prepped him for the butchering we did within 15 minutes because of Mr. Potter's keen observation, he has a fighting chance. What we did? Maybe one chance in five. Making a full recovery with all of his mental faculties intact? One in a hundred."

"He'd have better luck getting struck by lightning." Harry stole a glance at Hermione and saw her wiping her face. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"If you know anyone who has a vial of Felix Felicis, I'd give him a full vial of it. That might be the only way to up his chances of making a full recovery."

The junior healer left the room and almost immediately Director Robards and Auror Jones came in. "They're ready for you in the room. We're going back to the Ministry and filing all of the paperwork. Potter, I'll need a statement from you by Monday. We'll need it for the inquiry."

"Yes, sir." The remaining three watched Director Robards go next door for the Ministry Floo portal.

Auror Jones shared a grim look. "While I'm there, I'll file your paperwork for you, Potter, and speak with your director Granger about taking medical leave."

"Hemera, I can – "

"I know you can, Granger. I choose to do this for you. He needs both of you. We'll manage while the two of you are here for him. Besides, once he heals up from this cocked up disaster, I'll want him helping us change how we have additional help brought in. I never want to go through this again, where an Auror is injured or killed because of incompetence."


	4. Knight's Side Castle

"We came as soon as I heard," Percy and Audrey slipped into the room with the rest of the family. "How is he?" Audrey kept back, looking splendid in her pale blue mind healer robes. "If I'm late for work so be it," Percy spoke up.

"Alive, thankfully," Arthur stood up first and went to give his middle son a hug. It wasn't as awkward like it was years prior but tension filled the room. He hugged Audrey too, smiling at her. They hadn't been engaged a month yet. "But that's all we know for now." Percy bent over to hug his Mum firmly, whispering something in her ear before she said something back too quiet for the others to hear.

"He got hurt on the mission," Harry added. "We were out chasing a werewolf and – "

"The Healers will try to wake him later," Molly interrupted, dry washing her hands on her lap.

"The Healers don't know if he will wake," Hermione wiped her eyes, for what looked like the hundredth time this morning. "It's bad, Percy." Audrey came over and hugged Hermione, whispering in her ear before the younger witch nodded back.

Percy turned and took a long, hard look at his youngest brother. He took his glasses off, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and cleaned his glasses. "How? I mean, how did he get hurt?"

"Our forth was on loan from the Welsh office. He cocked up," Harry spoke up.

"You never said that git Trowbridge was on loan from the Welsh office." Hermione's dark eyes turned towards Harry and he felt the first instinct to recoil. She turned back to Percy. "That git hurt my husband _accidentally_."

"Well, he was and it was, Hermione. He screwed up his wand movements and misaimed. It wasn't intentional. We knew he was not the best but he was all we had available at that time. It's not like we can ask a loose werewolf to go curl up and sleep while we try to scare up someone more competent than a troll."

"And you just now thought of telling us, that Ron might die because you couldn't be arsed to speak up and say, _No, that git isn't going with us._" Some of her hair escaped the wrap around her hair, covering her face before she tried to swipe it away before falling back in her eyes.

"It's not like we have a choice in the matter, Hermione. It was a werewolf on the loose in a mostly muggle village. We took who we had and went with it. How was I supposed to know that he was completely incompetent? We thought he was only half-way incompetent."

"Oh, I dunno, maybe tell that witch Jones that you're not having someone who could kill my husband going out on the mission with you. Did you ever think of the others on your team?"

"This isn't some cushy desk job where you sit and write legislation all day to protect others," Harry snarled.

"Enough!" Audrey's firm voice interrupted. "Harry, take a walk. Go eat something but go take a walk."

Piercing green eyes turned on his eventual sister-in-law. "I am not – "

"I'm not asking, Harry," Audrey kept her voice light and jovial but the edge was underneath it. Everyone in the room was watching, much like when he first faced the Norwegian Ridgeback way back when.

"Fine," he stood and grabbed his jacket. "Rowing with Hermione isn't how I want to spend my hours worrying about my best friend," he slid past Audrey and to the door. "But I'll be arsed if I'm the one to blame for this whole fucked up situation." He slipped out, leaving it ajar.

"I'll see if I can sooth his ruffled scales," Arthur got up, "Maybe get some tea and scones for us," He slipped out of the room silently, leaving the others behind.

An audible sniff broke the tension in the room.

Percy bent over the end of the bed, holding his head between his hands, saying something under his breath. When he stood up, he pushed his glasses back on. His eyes were puffy and red. "I can't stay but I'll be by after work. If anything changes before then, someone let me know," his eyes fell on Hermione and she nodded in silent agreement. She sniffed before raking the back of her hand across her face.

Percy went to the head of the bed and leaned over, making sure to not touch his brother's head. Cracked lips were an inch from the Quidditch helmet covering the bandaging around Ron's head. The contusions on his face clashed with the bright ginger hair on Percy's head. He spoke quietly, so quiet that no one could hear him before he stood up and went to give hugs for the others. "I'll let the Minister know," his voice was rough. Percy found Ron's size 12 feet and squeezed them once. Percy left the room, leaving the women behind.

"Healer Cattermole, how long have you been on duty?"

The junior healer looked up from her expansive parchment at the older woman. "Since 8 last night. Things have been touch and go since Midnight with Auror Weasley."

Audrey glanced around at the others. Molly was looking at Ron, trying to hide the tears leaking down her face with the handkerchief from her housecoat before tucking it back in and then pulling it right back out. Hermione had her head in her hands, shaking without making a sound.

"Why don't you take an hour and grab a bite to eat or take a kip?"

"But I am supposed – "

"I'll cover for you for an hour."

"But Healer Greengrass and – "

"Nonsense. I can cover for an hour. I don't want you exhausted and make a mistake. I promise to wake you if anything changes."

"Yes, you're right," She slumped in the chair. "I'll go get a kip." The junior healer left her parchment and quill on the desk. She slipped out of the room, leaving the Weasley wives behind.

Audrey picked up the parchment and scanned it. She stopped, looked over the top of it at Ron in the bed and then went back to it, scanning it again.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked.

"Most of it is medical jargon. It's quite boring," Audrey looked back at the parchment.

"Rubbish," Hermione spoke up. "What does it say?"

"Hermione, I – "

"Audrey, my parents are dentists. I read their medical books as a child. I have some understanding, even if it's not as detailed as you might have."

"You would," she muttered under her breath. "You're not going to like it." The two women shared a long look, not bothering to look at Mrs. Weasley.

"Please," Hermione begged.

Audrey pierced her with a hard look before relenting. "Don't say I didn't try to protect you."

"That passed years ago and you know it."

"I know." She took a deep breath. "The Healers, including the junior healer, laid out their diagnoses and what they hope they can accomplish."

"And?"

"Everything in this says to keep him comfortable and pain-free. They," her voice broke a moment, "they don't expect him to wake and eventually succumb to his injuries."

"They did not," Molly interrupted. "They said he would wake."

"They said he probably would," Hermione spoke over her. "I can't believe they fed us a line of rubbish."

"They aren't, Hermione. What this is discussing is what reasonable outcomes they consider. Of course they want the best outcome. We all do. They aren't going to give up on him. And it also discusses options when he does wake. You're getting bent over normal medical information."

"But that's not what the junior healer wrote there." Hermione came over to demand the parchment.

"I can't let you read it. If you did she would be fired immediately and I would too. I can't share this."

"But you said – "

"I can discuss generalities. I can't discuss specifics."

"Bullshit," She snapped. "This is all bullshit. I want answers and you're feeding us Dragon dung. We need some Neurologists brought in. I'm going to call my parents and get the name of the best one in London."

"Hermione," Audrey tried to calm Hermione down.

"No, I won't. We need them. We need another opinion. Or three. I will not stand by waiting for him to perish when I could do more than sit on my arse waiting on him to wake when it's not guaranteed, much less expected."

"Hermione, please, he's getting – " Molly tried to quell her.

"No," she screeched. "He _has_ to get better."

"Hermione, I've read everything on the page, including what happened to him. The prognosis for what they had to do to save his life, it'll be a bloody miracle he will wake."

"He has to wake!" She shouted. "I'm not going to sit on my arse and do nothing to help."

"Hermione, hush. That's enough. I know you're -"

Hermione cut across Molly. "No, I won't. I can't lose him. I refuse to sit idly by when he's in this state. He's come so far," she yelled. "We've come so far." She turned and yelled his way. "Don't you dare leave me, Ron Weasley! You promised!"

"Hermione, yelling at him won't make him wake."

She turned, snarling. "Yes, it will! It worked for me." She went up near his head. "Ron, wake up! Ron!" She grabbed his larger than life hand, dwarfing her own. "Ron, please, wake up!"

Molly went to hug Hermione from behind. She shrugged her off, twirling on her. "Don't you tell me to calm down." She turned back to Ron and pulled his hand to between hers, squeezing off and on. "He got to wake! I can't do this without you!"

"Why do you think you're alone in this, Hermione? We're here. It's not like – "

Hermione huffed, trying to regain her composure and failing. She turned on Molly. "Oh, like how you had no qualms listening to liars trying to cause strife and not asking me? How you were more than happy to send Harry and Ron monstrous amounts of sweets at Easter and barely anything for me, all because of that dung beetle Skeeter writing rubbish about me." Hermione started shaking. "How about when I sent my parents off to Australia and when I arrived at your home you barely acknowledged me for the first week and only when Harry arrived that you deigned to speak with me? And I won't even discuss how you intentionally kept me apart from Ron then, when nothing was happening between us, thinking me a scarlet woman already?

"If anything did happen to Ron, I would not be welcome anymore. You've shown me that time and time again."

"That's not true," Molly hissed.

"Really? I remember you screaming at me to not hurt George when he was pissed at Harry's birthday party, or how you branded me a scarlet woman, chasing me off because you couldn't cope with Ron choosing me over you. And let's not forget you telling Ron to abandon me to come live at home with you and Arthur and Ginny when he'd already told you what he was going to do and it wasn't that. Or don't you remember those terrible things you told me the week before we left to go to Australia to find my parents? Don't you remember those horrible things when we came back? Or how you didn't give a damn about me, only the rules of your home?"

Audrey stepped between the two witches, feeling the animosity bouncing off of her. She chose to focus on Molly. "Molly, how about I join you for some tea and then you run home to get changed? I know you want to be here today and wearing your housecoat and slippers won't be that comfortable." how about I join you for some tea in a moment and we can leave Hermione here with her husband a bit?"

Molly ignored her sodden handkerchief and focused on Audrey's suggestion. "Yes, I think I will do that, and come back in an hour or so too." She stared past Audrey, seeing Hermione falling apart. "Maybe having some tea and toast this morning will help."

When she turned back, Hermione was bent over the edge of the bed, slowly soaking the white blanket covering his feet. Audrey understood that the two witches with her were on edge but the two of them would break if they kept at it.

Molly wiped her face before stuffing the linen handkerchief back up her sleeve. "Tea and a shower would be nice. Yes, I think I will." Molly picked up her purse and slung it up onto her shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it, shaking her head in grief.

Audrey went behind Molly, closing the door yet leaving a crack. "Hermione, you'll call us if anything changes? I will be back in five minutes."

She ignored them when they left the room.

Hermione moved to the side of his bed, taking his left hand and rubbing her fingers over the hand-carved goblin silver band that he never took off. "Please, come back to me." Hermione knelt down at the side of his bed, holding his hand. "I can't lose you." She kissed it gently before taking his hand and placing it on her face.

* * *

"Ron, I'm going to be late!" Hermione tried to throw Ron's arm off of her but he held her tight, snuggling closer under the covers.

"Ten more minutes. I just got here." His face was muffled in her hair but she learned to understand him with a mouthful of her hair in his face.

"It's been two hours, Ron. I have to get up."

"Call in, Hermione. I've not seen you in a week."

"And I'm in the middle of a project for work." She slid out from under his arm to the edge of the bed. "I'm due to present it Friday morning. I'll take off after and spend the next few days at home with you. I'll take off three days for you."

He groaned. "Don't bother. I'm being sent out Wednesday on a mission and don't know when I will return." Ron pulled the pillow over his head. "I get it. Isalright," he mumbled before drifting off to sleep, missing her stricken expression and a tear falling down her face.

* * *

[[[And they did the Do and it was fantastic!]]]

* * *

Hermione collapsed on top of him, completely satiated. It had been a week since they'd done _this_ and her heavy breathing betrayed how much she did need him that way.

An enormous hand worked its way down her spine, resting low on her hips. "Do you have any idea how much I needed that shag?"

"Probably more than I did," she replied back, trying to gather her wits about her from such an energetic session and failing miserably." Hermione looked up at the blue eyes she loved and saw mirth dancing over his face. "Then again, I did miss your hands on me." She blushed and turned away from his face. "They are amazing hands, so talented."

She lifted her head and saw his other hand pulling the hair away from her face and threading it behind her ear. "Oh so you liked that earlier when I - "

She looked away. "That was _different_, absolutely."

His eyes creased. "You, you didn't like that? But I saw you reading in that book and – "

"That? And you read it too?"

"Well, yeah. I even made note of the bookmarked page so I could read that. Last Mission was bloody boring when I wasn't on surveillance. So I thought I'd pluck up a copy and see what was so fascinating to you. Once I read that, I said why not try it and see?"

Hermione blushed hard. "It wasn't like that, Ron."

"It wasn't?" His voice cracked and blanched.

"No," she dropped her eyes to his chest and toyed with the smattering of gold hairs cresting his chest. "I was reading up on it because of something Gi – "

"Please don't mention anyone in my family right now," He groaned. The pillow exploded under his head, compressing down. "It's not that I don't know you compare notes with the others but damn, that's barmy."

"Anyway, someone we both know mentioned something interesting happened and it got me curious so I found that book at the local library and was reading up on it while you were away the last time. I found it academically interesting, not necessarily something I did want to try. I thought about it and discarded the idea. I didn't realize that it might be something that would interest you."

"So I nicked that book and read that rubbish, thinking that was something you wanted to try and it wasn't?" He tossed his head back into the pillow, groaning from what happened. "And it was your curiosity to get you to read it? Merlin, I'm such a tosser."

"Ron, it's fine. It surprised me. That's all."

Ron lifted her arm off of his body to sit on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. "No, it's not. I should have asked instead of trying to surprise you with something like that." He looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed with him. "I know you aren't fond of surprises or anything you don't bring up first." He got up and went to the loo. Moments later, the shower turned on, leaving Hermione boggled at what just happened.

* * *

"Oh good, you're still here." Ron popped his head into her workspace known as an office. Books and parchment were stacked everywhere. "Want to pop over to the Leaky for a bite before I go on shift?"

"I'd love to but I have to finish this report tonight. We busted an elf smuggling ring and brought in a dozen elves that had been trafficked in from Belgium. My report to Cutcliffe is due in the morning."

"Oh." Ron's face fell.

"But I can bring dinner by for you once I finish with this. It won't be but an hour or so."

"No, it's fine." He sighed. "Jones has us out for a training session tonight. I dunno when I'd return so don't wait on me in the morning." Ron disappeared before Hermione could move her chair back from the desk. By the time she got to her door, knocking over half a dozen sheets of parchment Ron was already in the lift at the end of the hallway, looking forlorn before the doors closed with a thud.

* * *

"Ron?"

"Hmmm."

"We've been invited over to my parents for brunch today."

"Hmmm."

"Would you come with me? I don't think I can handle Mum right now. She's on a tear and I dunno if I can cope with her criticism today, not after the week I had. At least with you there, you know when it's time to fake an emergency and we have to go."

Ron put down the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, scanning the Saturday Quidditch scores. "Sorry, Hermione but I can't." He picked the paper back up and continued to read.

"Why? You actually love my Mum's cooking. Dad enjoys spending time with you, too."

"I promised George I'd be at the shop at 10 to work today so he could take the day off. He's not had a day off in three weeks."

"Ron," she whigned. "An hour then?"

"I can't, Hermione. I wish you'd have asked me Thursday. I could have told George no or made other arrangements with him."

"I didn't find out until Thursday evening. It slipped my mind until this morning."

"Sorry, love, but I promised."

Ron got up from the couch, pointed his wand at the wireless to turn off the Quidditch recap. He folded the paper back up the way she liked and put it on the coffee table. "Maybe next time, perhaps?" She was left standing in the living room, wondering where she went wrong.

* * *

"You didn't answer my question."

Harry kept writing, trying to finish his thought for the report due in an hour.

"Harry, when is he coming back?"

Harry kept his eyes on his parchment, writing while also considering what Hermione asked. "I dunno, Hermione. He was called into Robard's office along with Williamson and they were in there a while. When they did come out, Ron went home, was gone maybe ten minutes tops before returning with his Ruck. They left this morning and I've not heard a thing since." He kept writing, hoping to finish with -

"It's not like him to _not_ tell me when he's sent off on a mission."

Harry finally looked up, tossed his quill down on the desk and pushed his chair back. "These things happen from time to time."

"But he always tells me when he's sent off. He knows I go mental if he leaves without saying something."

"I dunno what I can tell you, Hermione. I don't even know what he was sent off for. It's not like they run every mission by me, you know? I'm only a junior Auror myself. I have no control over who is sent off on a mission, much less knowing everything happening outside of this department."

"Yes, I know," she huffed. "I wish he'd at least have sent me a memo."

"Maybe there was no time? They did leave in a hurry from the portkey office."

"Maybe," she looked over at his desk, seeing how organized it was and tidy, too. "It looks like he won't be back for a while, the way his desk looks."

He saw Robards starting out from his office. He was on a short leash today it seems. "I dunno, Hermione. Sometimes we plan on being gone a month and its two days. Sometimes it's 2 days and turns into weeks. We just don't know until we get into the situation. I don't know what else to tell you."

She sighed again. "Dinner then, after work?"

Harry grimaced. "Sorry but Ginny is back from Berlin and I promised her a fancy dinner date in Soho. Who thought being a professional Quidditch player would change your tastes in food?"

"Oh, ok. Well, have a good time tonight." She picked up her briefcase and walked out of the department while trying to hide the tears that were falling down her face.

* * *

Hermione jumped into Ron's arms, peppering his face with a plethora of kisses. "You were gone so long," she cried into his neck. "You never sent word while you were away." She burrowed into his neck absorbing the sweat, stink, smoke and just how Ron naturally smelled.

Ron lowered her to the ground and buried his nose in her hair. The weight of the cocked up mission fell off of his shoulders. "I couldn't. Robards forbid us from making any contact with anyone who wasn't an Auror, and even then, only him or Jones. I couldn't even tell Harry about it."

Hermione pulled back from his jumper and looked at him with concern. "Ron, you smell of fire and of blood. What happened? Are you hurt? Is Harry hurt?"

"I… I can't talk about it."

"But I'm your – "

"Mission orders, from Kingsley himself." He slumped slightly. "Merlin knows I want to tell you. God knows I do. But I can't talk about it. I just can't."

"That bad?"

"Yeah, it was." Ron threw his cloak and jacket off. "And I need a shower. It's been too long without one." He pulled the jumper off and grimaced.

"You're hurt." She looked up at him, studying his face.

"Yeah, I am. But I've been checked out by a healer and I have a few days off. It's nothing a few days of rest won't help."

"Well, let's tend you in the shower and see how badly you're hurt." She reached her hands to the vest on his body and he caught her hands, holding them like you'd hold a baby kneazle. "As much as I'd love a leg over tonight in the shower, I'm completely knackered. So if you want to scrub my back and let me sleep the next sixteen hours, I'll make it up to you in the morning."

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from screaming. But if that's what Ron needed, she'd do that for him, even if it meant missing him for another week.

She couldn't bear to tell him that she was leaving in the morning for a conference in Florence and would be gone until Friday evening.

* * *

Audrey held two cups of tea, one fresh and one tepid. The day old scones, freshened up slightly for crème tea were her second favourite for breakfast but in this case, anything is better than nothing. She bumped the door with her hip to quietly slip into the room and froze for a moment, thinking that everything went to hell. Hermione was laying her head under his hand, crying. "I can't lose you. I need you. We need you. You have to come back to me, to us."

* * *

**A/N:** The unedited version can be found on Archive of our Own under the same title. _\- DG_


	5. Chapter 5

Audrey held two cups of tea, one fresh and one tepid. The day-old scones, freshened up slightly for crème tea were her second favourite for breakfast but in this case, anything was better than nothing. She bumped the door with her hip to quietly slip into the room and froze for a moment, thinking that everything went sideways in the last ten minutes.

Hermione was laying her head under his hand, crying. "I can't lose you. I need you. We need you. You have to come back to me, to us." Hermione took his other hand – pale, yet scarred from the brains from the Department of Mysteries so many years ago – and threaded his fingers one by one through hers, using his hand to pillow her cheek on top of his blankets. "You promised me, Ron. You promised me six months and four days ago that you'd never leave me, and to always return to me. Those were part of our vows to one another, you insisted since how important they were to you to have them included. You said our vows had to include them, as your promise to me. I told you it wasn't necessary but you said it was to you, that you insisted on it, even going so far as to promise an Unbreakable vow. I knew you meant it and how serious you meant it."

Audrey took a deep breath, realizing that their entire world hadn't yet gone sideways. It was Hermione finally coping with the grief in her soul. Merlin knew she'd stuffed so much down in her soul already and this was only a small portion she kept locked away inside.

Audrey put down her parcel and paper cups of tea down, content to listen and keep watch while Healer Cattermole took her kip. She could work and focus on the notes in her satchel and not pay too much attention to Hermione lamenting her situation.

While what she was doing was blurring the ethical lines between personal and professional, she owed it to the junior healer more than the distraught witch sobbing into the starched bedclothes. She could answer to Director Sinclair later on if there was an issue. But she would cross that chasm if she came to it.

Audrey opened the file to look over Ron's medical notes. Healer cipher was easy to discern since it was based on Greek and Latin. "Healer Cattermole was right," she thought to herself. "It's a huge balance. Not long enough and he's disabled the rest of his days. Too long and he doesn't wake." Audrey made a couple of notes on the margins about complications and consequences and treatments. She added that they shouldn't try to wake him until Wednesday evening, almost 3 full days after he was brought in. From her previous patients from the war, anyone who was awoken before the 3-day mark was left permanently handicapped and two were in the Janus Thickey ward because of it. After six days and the patient wasn't going to wake at all. That list was over a hundred after the fighting ended. Those were some very dark days, the first week after Voldemort perished.

There was no way in Hell she was going to share that knowledge with anyone remotely related to Ron.

She looked up from her notes and saw Hermione asleep on the blanket, softly snoring. _Let her sleep¸_she she might be grieving, no one else mattered at the moment except Ron. The lad in the bed, whom Audrey had come to appreciate in the last few years for how much a foundation he was with the family, and also the steadfastness that they all somehow depended on to continue living after losing one of their own, was the focus. Yet she also knew that it was a roll of the dice when it came to whether he was going to pull through this. Even if she believed in luck and burning incense and praying to her ancestors, she wouldn't put a galleon on whether he would come through. And while she knew that it was a critically poor prognosis from all of the medical notes, if anyone could pull through this ordeal and survive the worst, it was the one in the bed, clinging to life and potions to hopefully help him heal, surrounded by passionate people who loved him immensely, to pull him out of his ordeal.

She hoped. The brain was the last frontier in the medical field. There were no guarantees he would even wake.

Audrey looked up from her notes and saw Hermione lay her head down on his hands, weeping into the blanket covering her comatose husband.

* * *

A high pitched squeal broke the silence in the room. Was it her? Probably. Hermione left the mortal plane, shattered beyond all logic and understanding from her husband's talented fingers. It started simply enough, with her stripping him out of the grotty clothes he'd been wearing the last 3 days, followed by his bright orange pants and white vest. She turned on the showerhead, tapping it with her wand to keep it a nice hot temperature. She joined him in the shower, baring her lightened brown skin in contrast to his pale white skin in the dim lights of their bathroom. While he groaned under the steaming hot water, feeling every ache leave every muscle that cried out in agony, she washed him, from the soles of his size 12 feet to the ends of his fringe. Even when she had to handle the tender bits, using a warm flannel gently to clean those hard to reach spots, his hands slipped into her sodden curls on her head, gripping lightly. She, in turn, gently took him in her mouth, giving a nice long lick from his body to the end.

"Shit, that feels amazing," he moaned, one hand in her curls and the other on the wall behind her, supporting himself as she gave him immense pleasure. "I'd swear that I wouldn't feel like getting my cock sucked off for at least a week."

Hermione continued, not bothering to use words but other ways to communicate to him how much she missed him. Seeing him falling apart made the time apart worth the sleepless nights and the occasional nightmare she couldn't soothe.

"Hermione, I'm – "

Hermione kept going, relishing that she and she alone could do this for him – helping him process and cope with whatever happened on the mission and how he couldn't tell her but could let her appreciate him in these ways he needed.

Not ten minutes later, she was lying on their bed, the bedclothes discarded early by his non-verbal warming charm in the room, and Ron doing exquisite things to her very wanton body. How she missed his mouth on the nerve-sensitive bits of her body, like the back of her neck when she dropped her towel inside their bedroom, or how he could make her break out in gooseflesh by running his calloused fingers down her spine. It wasn't even when he easily wrapped her up in his arms, gently yet firmly tweaking her hardened nipples, and not even when one hand went further down her body before working two long fingers down into her sodden flesh. One particular touch made her knees buckle.

"Here," He whispered into the skin of her neck before helping her lay down on the edge of the bed.

Hermione attempted to sit up before one firm hand closed in on her right breast and insistent that she lay on the bed. "Close your eyes and just feel," his voice was soft and shy, much like how was outside of their bedroom.

She couldn't resist when he took over. Hermione fell back into the bedclothes and felt his strong hands on her thighs, pushing them up in the air. "Ron, I – " her voice cracked at the first touch of his talented hands. Lips followed hands on her most private flesh, utilizing his talents orally.

She threaded her hand into his soft ginger hairs on his head, quietly encouraging his actions to drive her spare. Barely a thought passed through while he devoured her, feasting on delicate skin that only ever got to experience. Her other hand reached out to the duvet, shoved aside when Ron laid her back onto their bed. She gripped it, not worried that she would accidentally tear the fabric with her hand.

"Oh God, Ron!" she erupted, feeling the eruption of sensations from her spine to her toes, curling her stomach to the point of pain. A groan broke the tension in the room

A chuckle drifted around the room while Ron held her steady while he continued to feast.

She shuddered and yet he didn't let up. He kept going. He gripped her thighs, grown soft in the years from working in an office and not hiking up and down so many stairs at Hogwarts. He held her easily, having worked hard as an Auror and helping his brother at the shop.

"Ron, I'm –" Her voice cracked before groaning to make a banshee proud.

"That's it, Hermione. Let go."

She gripped his neck, slurring "Fuck" as every nerve in her body vibrated and every muscle contracted against any possible will she might have had. He continued, using his dexterous hands to do things to her that she would never admit to anyone sober. But this was Ron, her love, her best friend, her partner and more. Anything he did to her – or asked of her this way, she'd gladly say yes, for him.

Everything he ever did for her she enjoyed immensely. If she thought she'd know dispassionately what he was doing to elicit her reactions, what sensations she was experiencing but couldn't be arsed at that moment.

The conflagration of the nerves through her core lessened up and she caught her breath before two gentle hands smothered her breasts and two fingers pinched the tips. Her back arched, her feet curled, and her hips lifted off of the bed, leaving only her shoulders and her feet keeping her from flopping like a beached sunfish.

And yet she did flop like a caught cod.

What felt like years passed before Hermione opened her eyes, giggling like a lunatic. Ron stood at the edge of the bed, supporting her legs with his arms while he was rather busy thrusting into her wanton body.

"Worn out yet?" Ron grinned without stopping. "It's not like I have unlimited stamina."

She reached for him and pulled him onto the bed, relishing the warmth and pressure only he could smother her with pleasure. Using her hands, she pulled her thighs wide for him. She would regret it tomorrow, stretching her body in ways that she normally didn't but he'd been gone for weeks and damn it, she missed him.

"Hermione?"

She released her grip on her knees to cup his face. "Go ahead. I won't break." She knew it sounded corny and probably mental but he'd understand and appreciate what she was offering him.

He slowed, while not stopping, making love to her instead of fucking her brains out.

"Ron?"

"I'll wear you out later, I promise. What I need is this," as he kept his movements languid, "I need this, to remember that I'm home with you and not dealing with sick fucks." Ron stopped and sat upon his knees, pulling her knees over his forearms. "I need to remember all that is good in our world."

One tear leaked out. "We'll take all day, as long as you want," she wanted to cry but instead focused on giving him the praise and feedback he craved from her. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

* * *

'You're home!" Hermione leaped up from the oversized chair she curled up in to read in the evening, a table for her tea next to her along with a stack of books knocked over. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow night!" She snuggled up next to Ron, giving an enormous hug. He immediately stiffened under her crushing hug.

"You're hurt."

"Somewhat but I've been cleared by a Healer. I'm off duty a few days and if you're game, I'd love for you to take a day off to spend it home with me."

"I will," She hugged him again, inhaling his particular scent, mixed with some healing balms, sweat, dirt, and some residual smoke. She pulled back a smidge and felt his hands caressing her face and back of her head. Long fingers threaded into her loose curls up under her evening bonnet before melting into a much-awaited kiss, renewing their vows of promises of return, of accepting however he returned, asking no questions until he was ready to share if he could. And if not, giving him anything he needed to open up to her, even if it was with a particular form of non-verbal communication that they loved sharing.

He pulled back one inch, placing a gentle kiss on her nose and forehead before capturing her lips once again.

Two tears leaked out, washing down her face and across his lips.

"I missed you too, love."

"You were gone so long, too long without you."

"I know. The bugger was moving every night and it was sod all trying to track him down. While he escaped, we also captured his partner and released a dozen muggles they had trafficked in from Morocco. Between that and some contraband potions that were highly dodgy, we broke up a major criminal ring."

"How did, I mean, um, "

"How did I get hurt?" His smile was infectious and Hermione smirked back. "Well, Jones and I were dueling Dolohov – "

"You saw him? Antonin Dolohov?" Hermione blanched.

"Yeah. The two finest duelers in the department and we couldn't take him down. Bugger nailed her but I'd tripped him right before he got his spell off, she wasn't hurt bad. Sure it's enough to make her sore and angry for the next week – "

"You mean?"

Ron laughed. "Well, when he tripped, he nailed her right on her arse. She got hit with a massive stinger and it was like getting stung by a Firecrab. I tried to apprehend him when she went down but he escaped, the bastard."

"And you're hurt because – "

"Well, he'd nailed me with a curse earlier."

Hermione gave him a dirty look. "How bad did he hurt you?"

Ron looked down at his feet. "Well, it's not a big deal, but it felt like someone knocked a bludger into my wedding tackle."

"Oh honey," Hermione hugged him again, patently avoiding the front of his trousers. "I know you're in agony."

"I was. It was almost as bad as catching your boney arsed knee in the bits."

"I'm not that bad!"

Ron smiled down at his wife. "Yeah, you are, especially at 8 am after I've been asleep for 2 hours and you shift to get out of bed after a lie-in."

"I don't mean to," She cringed and Ron laughed again.

"I know, love, but you do anyway. It's a barmy way to wake up from a good sleep." Ron smiled down at his lovely wife. "So if you're looking for some fun tonight, I'll be happy to take care of you but I dunno if my cock will be up for the task."

"Well," Hermione dropped her eyes a bit, tinkering with the belt holding up his trousers, "Maybe a hot shower and some tender loving care will change your mind?" She looked up at him and saw his eyes had grown wide and dark.

"Are you offering, love?"

She reached for his hand, her face blushing hard, pulling him towards the stairs leading to their loo.

* * *

Director Gawain Robards sat back in his ancient chair, the springs squeaking under his girth. "Merlin's saggy bits. Quit begging me for information. I know you're married but I'm not breaking mission protocol to tell you where he is."

"Do you really think I am going to tell anyone?"

"It's not about you. It's about rules for everyone. You probably can keep your gob shut but Smythe? Get him pissed on Firewhiskey and he'll natter all night to Hannah at the Leaky and every sodding bloke who barters in information will be rich – and my Aurors will be dead. So I'd love to let you in on everything but – "

"Rules are rules and for everyone," she lamented. "Well, these rules are crap."

"And I agree but protecting the Aurors out on a mission is paramount. Even you realize that. Do you think Jones likes going away from Aurora and not telling her? She makes you look like a piker when it comes to worrying."

"Rubbish," Hermione crossed her arms while regarded the grizzled Auror Director. Gawain Robards was considerably older than most in the Ministry, having survived both wars and somehow still trusted. "I know Professor Sinestra. She is nothing short of a walking example of a British upper lip."

"You've never gotten a firecall at 3 am from her then. She's ripped my bollocks off me wondering where Hemera was, why she was late returning."

"And yet with all of us honorable people, we still can't be afforded information to know where our partners are at." Hermione stood on the other side of the desk, appearing as a 1.6m towering ball of impotent rage. "This is bullshit, Director."

"I see Weasley's finally rubbed off on you. Good. But that's the thing about rules, Granger. They aren't in place for the honourable people. Those who are find it stifling. The rules are for the ones with little common sense, who would natter about sensitive information to any walking cock and blow investigations or give a tip to someone who is under surveillance.

"We still have a few Death Eaters in the wind, stirring up trouble and causing problems. That is who I send the best out to hunt down." Robards gave her a long, non-blinking look. "So any information that would be shared outside of me and the Aurors in question could have deadly consequences. That's why I am not telling, and why your worries are legitimate but also under mission orders, from me and Kingsley himself."

"Well it's crap."

"I'll take your opinion under advisement."

Hermione picked up her purse and satchel. "So maybe he'll return by the end of the month?"

"It's the 2nd of the Month, Granger. He's only been gone a week."

"I know. I'm asking whether I need to work long hours while he is away."

* * *

Their home was quiet - entirely too quiet. Harry was at work. Ginny was off at Holyhead. Ron was on day 3 of his mission. The fire crackled and her tea steamed for the fifth time. But the house was cold. She was cold. Her world was subdued, like someone turned down the color in a photograph from full color to sepia or even greyscale. Work was satisfying but it wasn't her life. Even the enormous grumpy fuzzball known as Crookshanks, asleep on the footstool by the fire enjoying the warmth, too, was the only real colour in her life. Nothing tasted good and she barely slept, missing his snoring and long arms around her when they shared sleep.

No, her life was off somewhere, on a mission she wasn't privy to, trying to track down the remaining criminals who were responsible for the coup years gone by.

This wasn't the first night she was left home alone while everyone else was out living, working, flying. And it probably wouldn't be the last one, with Ginny flying for the Harpies and Harry and Ron working with the Aurors. But it wasn't like she was going to beg him to stop working in the job he seemed naturally suited to. She shared so much pride in him finding an occupation that he seemed brilliantly suited for.

Soft footsteps drifted to her ears behind her.

"Miss Hermione, is there anything you need this evening?"

She pointed to the plate of croissants and jam on her plate, her dinner when everything tasted like chalk and mouldy cheese, much less sleep. "I wish Ron were home," She said wistfully. "But I don't think you can make him appear right now."

"Well, Miss Hermione, I could fetch Master Ron for you." Hope erupted in her chest. She wouldn't need him long – only 5 minutes to snog him breathless and just know down to her bones that he was alive, healthy, and whole. Maybe she could sleep tonight if she just knew he was fine instead of worrying herself sick. "Kreacher can do that for you." The diminutive elf looked upon her with his watery green eyes, the droopy ears, the well-tailored trousers held in place with suspenders and his cravat, emblazoned with the letter _B_ on it and waited.

Ever since he chose to work for Harry for wages and choose his own livery, he had perked up, seemed to grow confident and even taking to being almost polite to her. Almost. She did catch him muttering under his breath on occasion, usually when she was being short-tempered. She took the time to make amends to him later in some way that he appreciated. The last one was finding some old photographs of Regulus Black in the archives. That photo was on the wall of his small room, the one he chose off the kitchen.

Would his appearance compromise mission safety if he showed up at the wrong moment? Would Ron get hurt if he showed up? Face an inquiry? Made redundant? Decisions tossed back and forth in her mind, one as important as the other. A decision erupted in her mind, one that would suffice.

"Kreacher, would you do the following? Would you ask Ron? If he says he is busy, then no. I miss him terribly but not to risk their mission. I know you can apparate silently and that would help him and you."

Kreacher departed in a lightning crack, leaving Hermione alone in the parlour, curled up in the chair by the fire, Crookshanks asleep on the footstool in front of the fire, staying warm, while she waited as each second ticked by on the clock in the foyer.

_Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock._

She turned to stare at the ancient grandfather clock at the other end of the parlour. It had been in the attic, banished decades ago, according to Kreacher. Harry thought it would be useful once Mr. Weasley fixed it to show their own family – the five of them under the roof, along with Luna and Neville. That present had been a gift from Ron – Kreacher's on arm on the clock, either at home or Hogwarts, and one minuscule location known as the Hog's Head – since Aberforth had taken a liking to the wizened elf and kept half-pint mugs on hand for him – and a few dusty bottles of elf made wine.

Tonight was one of the many nights where she wished that bloody clock had been relegated to the rubbish pile or left in the attic.

A sharp crack exploded across the parlour, frightening Hermione up from her chair. Kreacher, still looking rather dapper, stood before her, his ears hanging down along with his proboscis nose. "Master Ron says he can't leave, that it's too important. And in his words, Kreacher blushed, or what passed for blushing for him, 'Don't believe I don't want to come home and give it to you. I do.' Those are the words he used, Mistress Hermione."

Hermione swallowed down the salty tears that flooded her nose and throat. "Thank you for asking, Kreacher. I appreciate you taking the time to ask. I will see to the dishes if you wish to retire for the night."

Kreacher stood up a little taller – which was not quite 1 meter in height – and straightened his suspenders holding up his dapper trousers. "Master Harry has paid my wages this week and Aberforth has asked that I come to visit him this evening." He made a noise which she had learned passed for a laugh. "But if you need me," he croaked.

"Yes, I will call for you straightaway. Have a good night, Kreacher. Enjoy your half-pint."

"Good evening," He croaked one last time before toddling away to the kitchen doorway, another lightning crack telling her that she was now utterly alone in the house, not including Crookshanks.

Hermione looked at the footstool and saw it empty, too. Crookshanks had left when she wasn't looking, either plodding down to the kitchen to eat or to chase the vermin that infested the second basement. No matter how hard she tried, various bugs and rodents made their way into that damp space. That was the only downside to having a shared home in central London.

She looked at the tome in her hands, something dry and related to work that she couldn't be arsed for the moment, not when she was completely alone in the enormous home the five of them shared. She couldn't even ring up her parents, not after the last exploding row she had with her mum a fortnight previous.

She looked at the small table and saw her forlorn croissants and jam. She cringed, the thought of that meal making her gag. Hermione pulled her wand from her curls and pointed it towards the other table, a silently _accio_ towards the basket containing the takeaway locations in their neighborhood. Like most nights when she was home alone with no one else to share a meal with, she put it back down, sighing to herself. She replaced the book in her work satchel, locked down the fireplace for the night and slowly walked up the stairs to the second landing, going to bed at half seven without her dinner or her lover.

* * *

Hermione raised her head with a start. "Audrey?"

The older witch stopped packing her satchel. "I was about to leave to do my rounds. Do you need anything?"

"No, I don't think so. Something woke me, I think. Did I doze off?"

"I do think you took a kip. You were pretty quiet for about half an hour." She glanced at Healer Cattermole and saw her put her nose into her parchment – a Healer sign that they weren't paying attention. "You were crying earlier and I think you cried yourself to sleep."

"Well, um, I might have," Hermione lifted her face up and rubbed it, moving the bonnet around on her hair and showing a few escaped curls. "I am exhausted."

"Well, if you need me, I'll be around the hospital. I have rounds to do and patients to check on."

Hermione gave her a pointed look. "I need my husband awake, healed and completely healthy."

"We're working on it." Audrey collected her satchel along with her purse and went over to Hermione. She gave a hug and whispered words of encouragement and she left, leaving Hermione with Healer Cattermole.

Mary stole a glance at the couple on the other side of the room. Maybe Mrs. Granger-Weasley would settle in rather than acting as an impatient owl. She put her head back down to continue writing.

Quill scratching on parchment was the only noise in the room. Healer Cattermole was writing up what ideas she had for saving the patient and how much risk it was for potential infections, for recovery and therapy to help him if he woke, and how long that might take. The senior healers were glad to have some ideas from the Muggles and how they could help their patients they couldn't heal straightaway. Anything to help the patient without harming him was all on the table. But now it was still a wait and see.

A harsh hiss broke the silence of the room. Healer Cattermole looked up and saw Hermione collecting her small purse. "I, uh, um, I need to run home and change clothes. I'll be back shortly."

The young healer nodded. "I'm on duty until 8 pm." She turned her head back to the parchment, continuing to scribe additional ideas.

"Thanks," Hermione bustled out the door.

Time ticked by and Healer Cattermole continued to work, listening to the even breathing of Mr. Weasley in the bedclothes.

Sometime later, she looked up to see Harry return, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "How is he?" Harry asked softly, not to disturb Mrs. Weasley who was tending her son in the bed by adjusting his blankets, rubbing his feet and hands with what appeared to be some sort of lotion and moving his legs in what appeared to be a bicycle movement. Arthur unpacked her large tote, bringing out more potions and lotions and a pillow for Mrs. Weasley. He placed it gently in her chair before returning to her side, looking down at his son and surreptitiously wiping his face occasionally.

"He's not moved since he was placed in the bed, according to my notes," Healer Cattermole looked past Harry and grimaced, "Well, he's not moved on his own since he was put in the bed."

"Notes?"

"Yes, sir," she looked down some to avoid his harsh stare. "Healer Reeves stayed with him while I caught a kip. She said she wanted me alert today so I did as she instructed. When I returned, she left. Mrs. Weasley-Granger left a little after she did, saying she needed to run home and change and would return." She looked back up at him and he tried to smile and failed, instead looking vexed. Worry creased her face in discomfort. "I am a junior healer and I have to follow any Healer's instructions, especially when they will offer an hour's rest."

Harry finally was able to smile. "I know Healer Reeves pretty well, too, professionally. We have to do what she tells us, right?"

The junior healer sighed in relief. "Yes sir, we do."

"It's odd that we didn't pass Hermione or Audrey in the lift or downstairs," Arthur spoke up and Molly silently shrugged. "No matter,"

Harry took a seat in the plastic chair on the other side of the room, facing the door. Some habits were hard to break and having his back to a door was the worst one. But then he didn't expect the worst to happen since it already had, putting Ron in the hospital bed teetering between life and death.

"I think I'm going to go home and change too, and maybe check-in at the office before returning."

"I'll stay with our sons," Molly looked across the room at Harry, too. "I won't leave them alone today."

He felt a rush of affection for Mrs. Weasley for her comment. It still boggled him from time to time how his adoptive family actually liked him and wanted him around.

Harry went to the side table and reviewed all of the potions there, along with the script on each one signifying what he was taking. Nerve regeneration potions, blood replenishing potions, an ampule of clear liquid sealed inside a glass vial, strong pain potions, and two bottles of skele-gro. Harry put the paper down, unread, and really looked at Ron under all of the bandages and protective padding.

"Well, I'll, um, I'll be back at lunch, then, and then after dinner. I can stay the night if you want to go home and sleep." Arthur came over to hug Molly from behind, whispering soft words into her ears and only for her ears. Harry averted his eyes, seeing the ones whom he cherished in a moment of intense intimacy, almost like walking in on them. He didn't look towards his surrogate parents, not while they were having a somewhat private conversation.

The door crashed open and Harry had his wand pointed at the door before Arthur could lift his head. George stood there looking haggard and disheveled. "I came as soon as I heard," he told them. He bent over, huffing and puffing, holding his side like he had a stitch.

He looked at Harry and watched him keep his wand trained on George. "Tell me something that only I'd know."

"Harry!"

"Either tell me or you're going to have a bad headache while in a holding cell at the Ministry."

"You're the reason why the git got new robes his sixth year."

Harry dropped his wand instantly, feeling mortified at following protocol in a hospital room.

Molly toddled over to hug her son fiercely before she let go, letting her husband get a hug in too.

"How bad – " the words got lodged in his throat, looking gaunt. Dark shadows hung under his brown eyes and his clothes looked as if he slept in them. He probably had yet again.

"He's pretty bad. It's stable but it's a wait and see."

"Fuck," he said half-heartedly. He looked up and saw Harry standing on the other side of the bed, looking forlorn. "On duty?"

"Unfortunately."

"Did you do it?"

"George Weasley!"

"No, it's fair he asks." Harry shuffled his feet. "And no, I didn't do it but it still happened while I was with him."

"You're always there when something happens. Why?"

"Hell if I know, George."

The two men shared a long, hard look before George turned away. "So what is wrong with him?"

"Head injury," Molly spoke up first, dabbing her eyes yet again. "They did some barbaric muggle surgery on him to save him but he's like this. They said they will try waking him later today. But if he doesn't wake, it's a race. If he doesn't wake shortly, he – " her voice broke into a gut-wrenching sob.

"They said if they can't wake him soon enough, he might never recover, or wake. But if they wake him too soon, he could be disabled permanently."

"Fuck," George spoke under his breath. "Why him?" George turned on Harry, a few inches shorter but with ingrained anger at the world. "Why did he get hurt? Everyone aims for you. Why him?"

"A walking knob ended excuse of MLS officer cocked up. So blame me if it helps you feel better, but I didn't do it."

George acknowledged Harry's explanation before he turned back towards his brother in the bed. "He looks like a half-wrapped mummy." He huffed. "Brilliant," he said to no one in particular, "the first time in three years I get a weekend off because this prat was gonna cover for me – "

"George!"

" – and he goes and gets himself hurt. I wonder who I made crackers in the universe to make this happen to me again."

"This isn't about you, George. It happened and – "

"I know, Mum," George yelled before muttering _sorry_ under his breath. "I'm complaining and this sucks and I can't cope. Cut me some slack huh?" George turned back to Harry. "You know, I don't want him looking like Moody before he's 25. Maybe you can suggest he retire or get a desk job, huh? Not like I want the tosser sharing space with Fred before I do."

"George Weasley!" Arthur's face was bright red. "That's enough." A sob erupted. "Quit upsetting your Mum."

"Fine," He made his way to the door. "I'll be back later." He stormed out, leaving the door open to the hallway.

"Arthur, why - " Molly's words echoed out from her husband's chest.

"Do you remember how you were after Gideon and Fabian were murdered?"

"Yeah, I do. But after Ginny, I got over it."

"And it took how long?"

"Few years," she muttered. "But – "

"It's only been a few years. This is hard for him. We should give him some distance on this."

"Last time we did Percy had to take him somewhere to dry out."

"Well he has more help now," Arthur saw Harry standing quietly, distracted by the side table of potion vials. "Harry, you know he doesn't blame you for what happened."

"I know but it still bothers me," he shrugged. "Anyway, I'll manage better once Ginny arrives."

"Did you owl her?"

"Well, no. I figured Hermione did."

"Well, we didn't owl her. We did let Fleur know but she's home with the kids since Bill is in Madagascar for the Bank."

"Bugger," Harry grimaced. "I better owl her or firecall the Harpies office to let her know. Last time I checked, they were on a tour of the Far East right now. I dunno if she will be able to take emergency leave. You think we should tell Charlie?"

"I think he needs to know, even if he can't come home because of the expense."

"You stay," Arthur came over to give Harry a much-needed hug. Arthur pulled back, looking slightly down at Harry through his glasses. "I'll see to contacting the others, including Bill. I'd be more comfortable if you were here keeping Molly company while I was away." Arthur quietly left the two behind, to see informing the others.

Harry looked over and saw Molly pull out a skein of wool and set her knitting needles to work. She was immediately engrossed in what she was doing – reading the Daily Prophet and glancing every so often at her work. He'd been in this world 12 years now and seeing how she could multi-task using magic always put a smile on his face and warm his heart.

Harry pulled a rigid plastic chair to the side of Ron's bed and sat down, trying to find a comfortable spot before giving it up as a bad job. He leaned in while using his wand to silently spell the area around Ron's bed into a cone of silence, keeping Molly from knowing what he wanted to talk about.

Some habits never die.

"Ron, I should have listened to you. I should have put a stop to the entire mission once I realized Trowbridge was brought on. Damn," He ran his hands through his hair before smudging his glasses, making the person before him even blurrier. "Why didn't I listen to you? Why did I just let things slide again." Harry ran his hands through his hair and fought down to anguish in his heart.

"I fucked up real good this time."


End file.
